


Time Rolls Ever On

by LaReineDuLune



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Established Relationship, Family, Fluff, Found Family, Historical, M/M, Romance, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26315494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaReineDuLune/pseuds/LaReineDuLune
Summary: There were cities in the world they visited more than once, where they made history, made a difference, and made friends. One such city was New Orleans, Louisiana - where Andy likes to stir up trouble, Booker finds what he didn't know he was looking for, and Joe and Nicky make time for romance.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 32
Kudos: 199





	Time Rolls Ever On

**TW:** brief mention of a child's death in the past.

Time Rolls Ever On  
©2020 La Reine Du Lune

_Mid-1800s, New Orleans, Louisiana_

“You sure about this, boss?” Nicholas asked, hedging just a little closer to Joseph before guiding him to his other side so Joe could be between him and Andy. He shot him a look that was both one of annoyance and deep abiding affection. He didn’t need protecting of course, but Nicky hadn’t liked the way some of the men on the docks had eyed him. Sébastien slowed to one pace behind them, ready to watch their backs and keep them from harm if anyone should come upon them on the walk from where they’d disembarked to where they were spending the night. There were a lot of unsavoury characters on the streets of New Orleans’ French Quarter. He’d only recently rejoined their fold, now that all of his family was gone. It had been fifteen years since Jean-Pierre had died, and longer still since his wife and their other two sons were taken. When he’d found Andrea and the others again, they hadn’t judged him, in fact they’d been kind and compassionate towards him in his grief. They’d welcomed him back with open arms.

Leaving Europe had been Joe’s idea, suggesting a change of scenery would do them all some good. The crossing from Portugal to the Caribbean had not been especially kind to Sébastien’s constitution, but he’d endured and eventually found his tolerance for the sea. The others fared much better given all their time at sea. They’d told him of Quyhn, though they needn’t have. He shared her dreams most nights.

From Port-au-Prince they’d travelled the Gulf then on up the Mississippi to hit land once again and headed straight up Toulouse Street once they’d collected their bags, weapons and heavy purses of coin they carried. They were rich by any man’s standards, but outwardly looked like tired old travellers looking for a place to lay their heads. They were dirty, dishevelled and weary. They kept their weapons concealed as best they could, but as a group they still had an intimidating air about them.

The darkness was a blessing after the heat and humidity of the day, even on the water. As it was, the atmosphere remained moist and thick and all of them were sweating under their layers of clothes.

“It’s only been seven years. Floria wouldn’t give up Robicheaux’s for all the tea in India. I sent word two ships before us. She won’t let us down,” Andy assured him. “Relax, she’ll take care of us. She’s my friend.”

“ _If_ she’s still there,” Joe added.

“You’re welcome to sleep on the street, Joe.”

“I’ll take the bath and the bed, thanks. What about the job?”

“I’ll handle the job, if there even is one.”

“You said…” Nicky protested.

“I know I _said_ , but I have to talk to Floria. She’s got her ear to the ground. It’s not like we need the money. She’ll steer us in the right direction. Things are coming to a head here, there’ll be a war soon, I can feel it in my bones. We’ll want to head North eventually. In the meantime, we’ll have a good night’s rest, good Creole food and a hell of a lot of Bourbon.”

“Suits me fine,” Sébastien laughed, and Andy reached back to circle her arm around his and bring him forward. Even though it was night, the square was bustling. They took a turn on to Decatur Street and crossed Jackson Square towards St. Louis’ Cathedral, pausing as Nicky crossed himself when he saw the steeple.

“We can come in the morning if you like, my heart,” Joe whispered.

“We’ll see what dawn brings, thank you,” Nicky replied, then sighing as he fought the urge to kiss him. They were not in welcoming company with the wide and varied peoples mixing all about the square. There were many different colours of skin, each one a different class than the other they passed each other on the street, most Catholic, but some not.

Joe took in the sights and the people, trying to commit them to memory. He did enjoy their diversity. He thought he’d might like to sit in the square during the day and sketch, if time permitted. Perhaps while his Nicky attended mass.

For their first venture to the colonies in two centuries, it was a marvel to see it all again and how far it had come. Furthermore, this time they had their new brother with them. The sin of slavery tarnished everything however. On one of the occasions Andy had ventured out on her own in the past decade, while Sébastien was with his family and Joe and Nicky took yet another trip to Malta, she’d come to New Orleans. She’d caused a little chaos and met a new friend by the name of Floria Robicheaux, who Andy was certain was going to put them up for a night despite not having seen the woman in seven years.

_“I delivered her baby, guys,” she’d told them. “Oh, and she also saw me get shot in the chest and recover, so... Suffice to say, we bonded.”_

As they traversed the square, Andy glared menacingly at a few men who were leering at her, intrigued and wondering as to why she was dressed as a man and in the company of three of them. They looked away when her looked challenged them. Weary, and not had a bath or a change of clothes in weeks, the four immortals sojourned on up to Boubon Street and headed towards the corner where it crossed Ursulines.

While all along there’d been people pouring in and out of taverns and houses of ill repute, the real party was ahead. It was the brightest house on the street, two stories high and wide open on the ground floor. The intersection was fit to burst from all the people gathered outside. There were lights everywhere, gas and open flame, and there was music and singing. The place was hopping.

They stopped on the edge of the avenue and gawked. The placard hanging from the railing off the first floor balcony pictured a mermaid with flowing ready hair and enormous bare breasts and the words _Robicheaux_ in gold underneath.

“It’s a brothel?” Sébastien questioned, his eye brow arched.

“No, it’s a tavern and a hotel… and maybe a little bit a brotherl?” Andy replied. “Everyone’s welcome, you’ll see.”

They pushed their way through the crowd, past the bar and into a large open room at the back, which was mercifully less crowded. Joe and Nicky traded a look a surprise, for sat around tables and in corners were men, but not just men, but men draped over each other in either passionate embraces, or quiet conversation as they held hands. There were women too, kissing or braiding hair, speaking intimately. There were also just regular couples sharing a drink or eating dinner.

“Told you,” Andy said, nudging Joe’s side. “Everyone’s welcome.”

Joe grinned and Nicky took the kiss off of him he’d wanted back in front of the church.

“I guess I’ll get us a table?” Sébastien offered and Andy nodded her thanks.

“I’ll get us drinks?” Joe already making his way beyond to yet another room where stood another bar. 

“Food too!” Andy yelled at his disappearing form. She gave Nicky a push towards his husband. “He’ll drop my dinner.”

The place seemed to go on forever as he spied yet another dining area in an adjacent room. Somewhere they had to be a kitchen as he saw men and women carrying out plates of food that smelled so delicious Joe nearly fainted for want of it.

Nicky chuckled warmly and followed on after Joe as he disappeared into the crowd.

Joe saddled up the bar and caught the eye of the woman after whom the mermaid out front had surely been fashioned after. She was tall and voluptuous with a cascade of copper hair tied behind her back with a black ribbon, her skin pale as moonlight, her lips like rose petals and her eyes matched her dress. Her dress was a sapphire blue and though it had seen better days, it was no less radiant as its beads sparkled.

“Haven’t seen you around these parts before, ship come in tonight?” she asked of Joe and he leaned over the bar, her accent heavily French. Her blue eyes sparkled.

“Yes, not an hour ago,” Joe replied.

“There better be mangoes on that damn boat, I’ve been after them for six months! What can I get for you? Need a drink? Or maybe you’d like a room and some company. Babette over there likes her men swarthy and bearded, you’re right up her alley. If you’ve got coin, I can offer you anything you want, cherie.”

Joe looked at the blond woman at the end of the bar and winked back at the wave of her fingers to be polite.

“Unless you’ve got an Italian with a big cock and eyes like sea jewels, I’m afraid there’s nothing you can offer me tonight,” Joe replied with a sly grin.

“Alas, cherie, I don’t have one of those, but I sure would like to.”

“That’s all right, I do.”

As if on cue Nicky appeared at his side and Joe surprised him with a kiss.

“Mon dieu, you sure do. You’ve broken poor Babette’s heart.” Her eyes raked over Nicky appreciatively, and Joe’s eyes shone in amusement at his blushing.

“Andy sent me to help,” Nicky offered, sliding his arm across his love’s back.

“Hold up une moment, Andy? You’re Joseph and Nicolò! How are you both so tall? Why didn’t I recognize you from her descriptions! Where is that old witch?” Already she was coming out from around the bar and pushing her way past the two dumbstruck men in her way, her heeled button up boots stomping loudly over the wooden floor. “Andrea! Show me that beautiful face of yours!”

Joe and Nicky watched in fascination as the two women rushed towards each other across the packed room, weaving between tables and people in a hurry to reunite. Joe and Nicky had never seen Andy so happy as when she and Floria collided, nearly falling over as they spun in each other in circles.

“Mon dieu you looked like back end of a mule!” Floria cried, kissing both Andy’s cheeks. “And you smell even worse!”

“I think I like her,” Joe spoke in Nicky’s ear, leaving the bar to join the women. Booker gathered Andy’s bag from where she’d dropped it and hoisted it over his shoulder, abandoning the table he’d secured. Floria admired him over Andy’s shoulder and gave him a brilliant smile. He inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“All of you are my family tonight!” she exclaimed. “Come, suivez moi! You’re too good to be among this riff raff, we’ll go to my rooms. Bontemps! Bontemps!”

At the call of his name a rather muscular, towering black man appeared from behind a pair of doors that lead to who knew where. He smiled, passing a glance over Joe and Nicky and answered the lady’s call.

“You bellowed?” he chuckled.

“Ask Marie to send up a big pot of her gumbo, eh? Don’t skimp on the shrimp or the Andouille sausage, d’accord? And the parsley rice, a roast chicken, and bring a tin of them candied pecans too. And Bourbon, lots of bourbon! We’re dining at the house,” Floria rattled off to him. “You got their rooms ready? You remember Andy?”

“Everything’s taken care of,” he replied with a smile and a wink of his eye at Andy. “I’ve been holding those rooms for a week, you remember? We’re losing money on them every night.”

“Bah, who cares about money? What do we need with money?”

“If I wasn’t here to keep track of your money, you’d have been turned out years ago.” Floria scowled but it soon disintegrated into a smile and she went up on the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek. “Go on, I’ll bring everything up soon.”

“You’re my angel, Bontemps.”

A short while later, Floria had led them through the lush courtyard of what was in fact a significantly large sized establishment. While the bar and restaurant were like bee hives, beyond the courtyard was peaceful with a fountain bubbling at its center. There were two stories and many doors to many rooms behind the white-painted balconies that looked down into the courtyard. When they reached the end, Floria drew out a set of keys from a pocket in her dress and unlocked a door. Turning on the gas, she lit the foyer lights and proceeded through the house lighting the rest until they could all take in her home. For someone so flamboyant in personality, her possessions and furniture were minimal, keeping only what she needed with little extravagance.

“Through that door on the right, my friends,” she pointed. “Sit where you like, I’ll get another chair.”

Andy took a candle from the candelabra on the dining room table and lit its wick in one of the lamps before setting the others to light, giving the room a warm glow. They’d dropped their bags outside the dining room and took their seats around the table set for four. Floria entered a moment later with five wine glasses and another plate in her arms, pulling a chair along with her foot.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?” Andy laughed as she rose to help her.

“Who are you calling ridiculous you menace? Disappearing for seven years and then out of the blue comes your letter. I nearly died. I’m not immortal in case you forgot.”

“You should be. The world needs more people like you.”

“The world can barely handle me for one lifetime, cherie, I don’t think she wants me for more than that!”

“We’re looking for a job,” Andy began. “It doesn’t have to be for money, we just want to help out where it’s needed. Word is things are getting pretty tense between the North and the South.”

“No mistake there. I’m enjoying life while we can. It’s all going to hell and President Buchanan’s an ass. The south is a powder keg ready to blow. It’s about damn time if you ask me. I don’t want war, but the world is wrong, Andrea. Bontemps knows that better than anyone. He’s got his ear to the ground, he’ll find you something good, something noble. Not tonight though, tonight’s for celebrating!”

“Right! Where’s my namesake? Is she asleep?” When Floria’s face froze and her eyes closed as she held back sudden tears. She took in a deep breath and opened her eyes, looking straight into Andy’s and communicating everything in that gaze. “Oh, Floria, no…”

“She didn’t even make it to a year,” Floria recounted with a pained, tight voice. “My husband lost at sea, leaving me to raise our little girl all alone when you found me. She had a fever that we just couldn’t break, not matter what we tried. I gave just about every coin, every possession I had to any doctor who’d come to see her. I tried everything. God didn’t answer a single prayer of mine.”

Surprisingly Booker, who was sat to Floria’s right at the head of the table, reached out and lay his hand over hers. “I’m truly sorry for your loss,” he spoke, his voice hushed. “There’s no greater sorrow.”

Floria smiled at him and lay her hand over his. “One you know well, eh?”

“A little too well, yes.”

She took up his hand and kissed it before setting it down and giving it an affectionate pat. “I’m sorry for you too, cherie.”

More words would’ve been spoken, but at that time Bontemps arrived with three others carrying their feast for the night and all thoughts of dwelling on the past were cast aside.

As the night wore on, more drink was consumed than food and they were soporific and content around the table. Conversation had become light, tales of adventure being traded and Floria excitedly eating it all up. Nicky had draped himself over Joe's back and kept nuzzling at his beard while his husband told the story of how the tides of war and changed them from enemies to lovers. Floria looked at them with big doe eyes as she leaned back in her chair and listened. Sébastien nursed a glass of Bourbon, his mouth feeling like cotton and his eyes drooping.

But as the night waned and the tavern closed up shop, bed beckoned and Bontemps was finally noticed leaning in the doorway awaiting them, they downed the last of their drinks.

“Gentlemen,” Bontemps looked to Joe and Nicky. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room. Miss Andrea, shall we talk over breakfast, I have a matter that may be of interest to you.”

“See you at breakfast,” was her reply.

Joe and Nicky said their goodnights and gathered their bags and weapons from the foyer and followed arm in arm out of the home.

“Andy? You know I love you, cherie,” Floria spoke. “But, I need you to get out so I can seduce the Frenchman.”

Sébastien dropped his empty glass as he choked on the last of it. Andy grinned at them both before rising to call it a night.

“Good luck Le Livre,” Andy spoke to the still shocked man, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re gonna need it.”

“Find Bontemps!” Floria called after her retreating friend. “He’ll find you a bed! Maybe even his own!” She turned back to Sébastien. “You can say no, I won’t be offended.”

“You _are_ very beautiful, it’s just…” He looked at her with sad, shimmering eyes and then looked down at his empty glass.

“Hmm?” She placed her hand on his wrists and stroked the pulse point in an effort to coax him into talking.

“Sometimes immortality is confounding. My wife died over twenty five years ago, but…”

“You still feel married? That she’s just back home waiting for you?”

“Yeah. All our children died young, adults but still young. I think about them, all the time.”

“Grief never ends, mon chère, we only learn how to navigate its waters. Sometimes it’s a rushing river, other times a slow moving stream, but it always flows and carries us along. My husband died at sea, his ship sank off the coast of Barbados. Only a handful survived and he wasn’t one of them. I was with child and he didn’t know. But at the time, I thought to myself, at least I have part of him with me. She was just learning to crawl when the fever too her, my little Andrea. Some nights I still feel my husband next to me when I sleep, but I awake and it’s to an empty bed. I’m tired of an empty bed, Sébastien.”

“Me too, but, what if… I don’t want to leave you like your husband did, with a child, I mean.”

“Andy says she’s not sure any of you can have children.”

“True, but we don’t know. It’s never happened to Andy. Obviously it’ll never happen with Joe and Nicky, but I haven’t been with anyone since… so I don’t know.”

“Well, let me put your troubled mind at ease. My little girl took me apart comin’ out and I’ve never had a man put a baby in me since, lord knows I’ve tried. The only thing you’ll leave me with in the mornin’ Monsieur Le Livre is a smile on my face and a good memory. At least you better, I have high standards you’ll have to meet.”

Sébastien chuckled warmly and took her hand in his.

Meanwhile, Bontemps, whose first name they’d learned was Emile, had led Joe and Nicky to their room for the evening. He ushered them into a suite on the ground floor after turning up the gas and lighting the lamps. It was set on the inner side of the courtyard away from the street. There were no windows and only the one door – easy to defend, which Nicky appreciated. It was reasonably spacious with a large bed opposite from the door, along with a vanity with a pitcher of water, a basin, and other amenities.

The three entered the room together, Joe and Nicky dropping their bags just beyond the door as they took in the place. The walls were red brick, and the bed looked lush and was covered in pillows and many layers of blankets. It looked so inviting, Nicky was practically vibrating in anticipation.

“Gentlemen, this is our best room,” Bontemps gestured, “While it may not be much on the surface, it’s one of our few with a privy, and a bathtub. The gas heats the water and we’ve got proper sewers running along this part of the French Quarter. There’s soap and drying clothes for you too.”

“My friend, you might well have just given us the key to the Pearly Gates. This is indeed luxury we’ll be very grateful to indulge in!” Joe grinned, excited at the prospect of a proper bath. “Thank the lady of the house for us, she is too kind.”

“Nothing is too good for friends of Andrea’s, is what she said. Now, if you’d like, I can offer you another indulgence…” There was now mistaking Bontemps gaze as he looked them over. Joe sighed and surreptitiously hooked a finger around one of Nicky’s.

“We thank you for the offer,” Nicky began, fully lacing his fingers with his husband’s, “You are a very beautiful man, and we should be so lucky as to invite you into our bed, but my Joseph and I do no share each other. We never have and never will.”

Bontemps bowed to them. “We should all be so blessed to have such a love. I take no offense. In that case, I bid you a bon soir. Have a look in the cabinet beside the bed, there’ll be other things in there for you to enjoy a proper evening together, the best oils. Leave your clothing on the bench outside the door and I’ll be sure to have them cleaned and ready for you by the morning.”

With that he handed them the key and left them in peace. Joe looked at the key in his hand, and then towards the adjoining room where the bathtub awaited them. The two men shared a brief and knowing look before jumping into action and began to strip themselves bare as quickly as the could. Joe tossed the key on the bed while Nicky gathered up their clothes in a haphazard ball as they were tossed all over the place. Joe dove into their bags to find every other article of clothing they owned. They hadn’t a clue when the next chance to be completely clean would present itself and they weren’t going to waste the opportunity. With their clothes in his arms, Nicky peaked outside through the crack he’d opened the door. Hurriedly, he tossed everything in the general direction of the bench Bontemps had mentioned before slamming the door shut again, only to be grabbed by Joe and pushed against the door to fall victim to the filthiest, probing kiss they’d shared in weeks.

“God, you smell,” Joe laughed, pressing his nude body to Nicky’s. “It’s a good thing I love you.”

“You aren’t particularly aromatic either, _habibi_ ,” Nicky countered. “Or rather, you _are_ , but I’ve smelled better pig sties.”

“Bath?”

“Yusuf, I love you with the passion of a thousand burning suns, but I would cast you aside at the mere suggestion of a bath. So yes, yes, infinite yesses.”

Hand in hand they dashed across the room, turning up the lamp to take in the glory of the giant claw footed porcelain bathtub in the center of the room. On a shelf there were drying clothes, bars of soap, a toiletry set and a shaving kit along with another basin of water. There was a drain at the center of the tiled floor and they made fast work of filling the tub, and the pitcher, which they used to give themselves a cursory rinse and scrub down with the soap, not wanting to sully the bathwater as they soaked. They lathered each others hair and poured pitcher after pitcher of hot water over themselves to rinse away the suds.

By the time they were done, the tub was full and Joe turned off the taps.

“How do we want to do this? It’s surprisingly large,” Joe said.

“Ah, _habibi,_ I remember when you first spoke those same words to me centuries ago,” Nicky mused with a snort of laughter.

Joe smacked his chest. “As shocking as this may come to you, _amore_ , I am more interested in getting in the tub than I am in your, admittedly magnificent, cock.”

“You first, I want to lay in your arms, to feel you all around me.”

“I am very amenable to that, my love.”

Joe left Nicky with a kiss to the cheek before testing the water with his hand. It was hot and the very thought of soaking in warmth with his husband in his arms had him verily vibrating with anticipation. He hissed as he eased himself into the bathwater and then moaned low and long as he finally submerged himself. He spread his legs wide and brought up his knees before offering his hand to Nicky to help steady him as he joined him. Nicky melted into him, becoming boneless as his eyes closed and he settled his back against Joe’s chest, and his cheek to his shoulder.

Joe kissed behind his ear and caged him in his limbs, arms and legs tangling together. One of his arms settled around Nicky’s waist, the other across his chest and shoulders. Their toes played with each others’ and their breathing fell into rhythm together. Despite how hot and humid it had been outside, the steam and warmth in their little nook was sublime. Joe caressed the side of Nicky’s face with his beard, his eyes closed and he held him and swayed slightly to the music in his head. Nicky arms and hands wrapped around Joe’s thighs and held them firmly about his waist.

“Do you regret not inviting Bontemps to stay?” Nicky asked quite suddenly, snapping Joe out of his quiet revelry.

“No, of course not,” was his immediate response, “There is no interest there other than appreciating his beauty. A beauty, I might add, that pales in comparison to yours. Have we not had this conversation before? More than once? Do you ask again so I may affirm with the same answer? Or do you hope one time I’ll say yes? Be honest, please. I would like the truth, the heart of it.” He’s been enjoying their quiet solace and he was annoyed that Nicky would say anything to derail it. However, he also knew his Nicolò better than he knew himself.

“I don’t want you to ever say yes.” It was the answer Joe had expected.

“I have no intent to do so. So why do you ask?” He pressed him, having been dismissed in the past whenever they’d come to such bridges to cross.

“Because, despite everything, despite all our years together…” Nicky sighed heavily. “I still feel profoundly unworthy of you, Yusuf.” Nicky tipped his head to rest it against Joe’s bicep. Joe tightened his hold and Nicky shivered despite the heat of the bath.

“Eight hundred years, and _you_ feel unworthy? I love you, but honestly that is utter nonsense. Have I not worshipped you in every conceivable way? Have I not written you poems, claimed your body, defended our love?”

“You’ve done all those things.”

“And you’ve done the same for me. Why then are you not confident? You were amply so when you told Bontemps we do not share each other! Where has your self worth disappeared to so suddenly?”

“It’s not sudden. It’s constant and has been since the day my feet touched the shores of the Holy Land.”

“This again? Nicolò, _hayati._ ”

“Yes, again. I’m sorry. I do not plan to upset you, but it seems I’m continuously destined to wound you in one way or another.”

“The only wound you do me is to still blame yourself for what happened to my people a nearly a thousand years ago. What’s brought all this on?”

Nicky twisted his body until he could lay his cheek to Joe’s chest and wrap his arms around his waist. In turn Joe’s arms came around his back, kneading his muscles with his fingertips, trying to loosen their tension.

“My reaction to seeing the church at the square.”

“Your reaction? I don’t understand? I thought you were glad to see it, I thought you’d go to mass in the morning.”

“That is the problem. I _was_ glad to see it. It was my people who invaded your homeland. It was my people who took the black men from Africa and enslaved them here and all over the world. It was my people who decimated the first peoples of this land. I was glad to see the church because I love God, but I was swiftly reminded that The Church is responsible for countless atrocities. The Catholic Church sanctioned slavery. When I see what this country has become, and men like Bontemps who likely do not even know from where his ancestors come from, I am reminded that I indirectly had a hand in it all.”

“You are not The Church, Nicolò.”

“I know. But I ashamed that without thought I am pulled by my very soul to an institution that does not align with my beliefs nor the teachings of Christ. It is rife with corruption and avarice and there is nothing I can do to change it. It is too powerful, even for me with my immortality, to stop.”

“You put too many burdens on yourself, my love. I wish I could carry some of them for you. Do you remember, all the way back to our beginning when I found you starving and dying over and over of thirst, penitent and alone in the desert?”

“Yes, I remember.”

_Yusuf had been nearly at his wit’s end, his heart broken and his soul in agony for want of his Nicolò. He had disappeared nine weeks passed and Yusuf had nearly given up hope, until he came across a group of travellers who told him of a mad Christian wandering the desert, who had refused their offer of food and water, asking instead that they kill him. They let him be after days of trying to convince him to take part of their kindness. Yusuf knew the incident at the village had disturbed Nicolò a great deal, but not to the extent that he would run away into the night and away from him._

_It was almost a year to the day since they’d first met on the battlefield, all fire and fury and killing blows. It had been twelve weeks since their unlikely friendship had evolved into something more. They had been travelling for those weeks away from carnage and death, agreeing to escape together into a new life to figure out their futures and the nature of their immortality. They had made love and spoken the words of it. Then, they’d come upon a small fishing village on the shores near the border with Egypt. There they found a band of Franks in the act of raiding the village. There were horrors to which Nicolò had been naïve before that, specifically the pervasive avarice for the rape and murder of women and children that his former fellowship displayed before them. The men of the village were dead, having been unable to defend themselves. All that were left were vulnerable innocents and instead of thieving and looting before moving on, the band of so called Christians wrecked brutality upon those remaining. There had been no mercy._

_In the wake of Yusuf and Nicolò slaying every monster they could, they were left with nothing but the haunted wails of mothers clutching dead children. They’d moved on quickly after that and Nicolò disappeared two days later, escaping their shared tent and leaving everything he owned and Yusuf behind. Not knowing which direction his beloved had gone and being unable to follow any tracks, he had been at a loss. The moment he’d realized Nicolò had left, Yusuf felt has if half his heart had ceased to beat. He set out on a lonely, impossible quest to find his beloved, for he knew him, down to bones, and his Nicolò was suffering._

_When Yusuf finally laid eyes on him again, his stomach turned and he nearly fainted. Nicolò lay in the sand naked as the day he was born, miles from anyone and anywhere, emaciated with his skin blistered under the unforgiving sun. He was dead, either of thirst or starvation, and Yusuf wept at the sight of him. Carefully, he’d gathered him up, wrapped him in robes and carried him to one of the horses, climbing up behind him and cradling him close as they rode on. There was a twitch of life to the body he protected, and Yusuf cried all the more. They rode through the night until they came upon an oasis that Yusuf knew of from years past as a traveller and merchant. Mercifully they were alone and he erected their tent prior to taking Nicolò’s still body into the water to bathe him. He wrapped him in their blankets, and lay him to bed and waited while a single flamed burned low from the oil lamp they carried._

_When Nicolò’s eyes finally opened the first thing he saw was Yusuf._

_“You should have left me to the desert,” Nicolò whispered._

_“I think you’ve suffered enough, don’t you?” Yusuf replied, reaching for Nicolò’s hand, but unable to clasp it before Nicolò withdrew it._

_“No.”_

_“You are not the living embodiment of every Frank that has come to our shores, habibi. How many women have you raped? How many children have you slaughtered?” Nicolò closed his eyes and hid his face away from the empathy in Yusuf’s. He did not believe he deserved to be looked upon by someone so benevolent as Yusuf. “I know the answer is none, but you knew? What your soldiers did to our innocents?”_

_“In the abstract only. Part of me refused to believe, and then after that day in the villiage, there was no denying it.”_

_“No, there is no denying it. I grieve for your loss, of the world you knew before this one, when you felt whole and safe. I often wish you’d stayed in Genova and been spared this awful torment of your beautiful soul.”_

_“Our quest is evil. It’s bloodthirsty, barbaric and arrogant. Christ would abhor what has been done in his name. My people are the evil ones, not yours.”_

_“That is the truth. But you only knew what you were taught, now you have learned differently. The answer shouldn’t be to defile yourself like this, to run mad into the desert to mortify your flesh, to punish yourself for the crimes of others. You lay your sword before me as surely as I did mine before you. Long before now you saw the futility of war, and its casualties beyond the soldiers on the battlefield. You are a good man, Nicolò di Genova. I cannot entertain any argument saying otherwise. Besides, I love you very much, with every fibre of my being, and it causes me great pain to see you suffer.”_

_“I would never willingly cause you to suffer, Yusuf, that is why I left. You do not deserve to tie yourself to such a wretched monster for all eternity. I am a criminal, I am the same as them, perhaps not as awful, but cut from the same cloth nonetheless. Bury me in the sand and leave me. Bury me so deep that I could never crawl to the surface. Fill my lungs with sand and leave me to die a thousand more deaths. There is no absolution for my sins.”_

_“You want me to be your judge and executioner then? It’s to me to decide your fate? I will speak for all my people?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Then look me in the eyes Nicolò di Genova as I deliver your penance.” Nicolò did as he was bade and turned his eyes to Yusuf’s. “Swear to me that you will accept my next words as absolute.”_

_“I swear.”_

_“Swear to God.”_

_“I swear to God.”_

_“Then here they are. Nicolò, from this day forward I charge you with this – You are to be my moon when I am lost in darkness; my warmth then I shiver in cold; my water of life when I am parched. You will be my protector, my friend, my lover, and my husband. You will spend our eternity in my embrace and you will fill your heart with my love and joy and give me the same in return. Cut your cloth from the world you were born into and weave it together with mine. You and I will ride the waves of the sand and water and in our wake we will leave the bodies of evil men bathed in their own blood if they have ever harmed an innocent. You will be whole and you will be good, and you will learn to forgive yourself, as I have forgiven you.”_

_“I do not deserve…”_

_“You swore to God, Nicolò.”_

_He pressed his lips together, chapped and cracked as they were and paining him. His face crumpled and he wept. Yusuf sighed and lay himself down. He drew his love into his embrace and held him. “Do you love me?” Yufuf asked._

_“More than anything, Yusuf. I love you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”_

_“I know, habibi. I am sorry too.” He kissed Nicolò’s forehead and cradled him to his chest. “There is place I should like to take you. Perhaps you have heard of it? It’s an island where Muslims, Christians and Jews alike mingle and trade together. It is by no means perfect but there is far less strife there than the rest of the Mediterranean. It’s called Malta.”_

“We made love in Malta, for days and days, and all night too,” Nicky recalled.

“You were very serious about accepting your penance, _habibi_ ,” Joe spoke warmly, kissing into Nicky’s wet hair. “I don’t suppose another hundred years will ease your guilt my beloved Nicolò, but I am more than willing to remind you that you have been absolved and I am willing to absolve you once more. Also, I’m sorry you’re sad, and that you’re upset. There is no greater pain in my life than seeing you suffering. I would do anything to take it from you.”

“No, it should not be taken from me, it serves as a reminder to strive be the man you deserve.”

“You are. You already are.”

“I love you, Yusuf. I fear you’ll never know just how much.”

“If it is even half as much as I love you, then I know. I know.”

“Let us be quiet for a while, until the water begins to cool, then guide me to the bed, and take me, take me until I am ruined. I ache to be filled with you. I don’t want to be claimed by sleep until you have taken every imaginable pleasure off me.”

“I will make you see the stars, my heart.”

Joe and Nicky make no qualms about take another bath the next morning, washing thoroughly before snatching back their fresh clothes from the bench outside. All in all, despite Nicky’s perpetual struggles with his well entrenched guilt, it had been by far one of their most contented and pleasurable nights together in all their long years.

Over the course of the night, Bontemps had found them a suitable bit of work, escorting up North a group that consisted of about a dozen black women and their children, all escaped slaves who’d been in hiding. With luck they’d be able to set them on a safe path to Canada once they were clear of Confederate territory.

At that point, the four of them would be where they needed to be, to figure out a way forward in the burgeoning country that still had an immense amount of growing pains to go through. They would fight for what they thought was right.

Joe and Nicky sat on the bench outside their room, lamenting they couldn’t stay another week to relax, but there was work to do. They were packed and ready to go after Bontemps had brought breakfast to their room along with details about the job. Andy sat near the fountain on her own. They awaited Booker.

To their surprise, they soon spied him emerging from the front door to Floria’s rooms, the woman herself naked save for the sheet she had wrapped around her. The two shared a passionate kiss before he bowed to her and hoisted his bags over his shoulder. With a wink in Andy’s direction the women said a silent goodbye.

When they met at the fountain Booker seemed almost happy. It was completely obvious how he had spent the night.

“You could stay, y’know, if you wanted to,” Andy offered, but he waved her off.

“Ships passing in the night, and all that,” he sighed. “She’s a remarkable woman.”

“And not just because she gave you the night of your life?” Andy teased. He laughed good naturedly. She clapped him on back. “C’mon, Bontemps waiting for us. It’s not going to be easy, we’ve got a lot of people to take care of. He’s got us a couple wagons with supplies and horses, but we’ll be walking most of the way. The children will ride in one - Joe and Nicky, they’re yours to guard. I’ll take the lead with the women and the provisions, Booker, you’ve got our backs.”

“Yes, boss,” the three spoke in unison.

“It’s a long road.”

“Aren’t they all?” Booker laughed.

_A century and a half or so later, 2025…_

  
“ _The Gumbo Shop_ for lunch, for sure,” Nile spoke, though barely able to walk after the mountainous breakfast they’d devoured. How Quyhn could continue to glide like a forest wraith after the four plate sized pralines and whipped cream waffles she’d eaten was beyond her. She’d drenched them in maple syrup too. Immediately afterwards they’d gone to the Café du Monde and overstuffed themselves with coffee and beignets until they were rolling.

Nicky and Joe were walking a few paces behind the group, hands clasped together as they sipped on their iced lattes. Booker was to Nile’s left and Andy to Quyhn’s right.

“What is a Gumbo Shop?” Quyhn inquired.

“It’s a restaurant,” Nile continued. “They specialize in Creole dishes, good old fashioned soul food and a pecan pie that will knock you to your knees it’s so delicious.” She hailed Joe and Nicky and they caught up. “Tonight we’re going to the _Blue Nile_! We’ll get a real taste of some low down dirty Delta Blues. It’ll set your souls on fire.”

“We have been to New Orleans before, you know?” Nicky said, smiling indulgently at her as they walked up Dumaine Street.

“Yeah, like over 150 years ago. You haven’t seen _my_ New Orleans. Besides, you haven’t been here during Mardi Gras. We’re playing tourist and you’re playing along, or I’ll book us a Segway tour of the city and then you’ll really be sorry.”

“What’s a Segway?” Joe asked, his face a picture of confusion.

“You’ll find out if you don’t play your cards right. Speaking of which, Booker, are you still wanting to get in on a poker game with the locals? I know a guy, who knows a guy. They probably don’t know that I ‘died’ in action. Or you can just ask around at the club. Or the hotel. Or, something.”

“We’ll play it by ear,” Booker replied, settling had hand between her shoulder blades and smiling at her dolefully.

“First…” Andy interrupted as she slowed her pace, the corner of Bourbon Street just a few steps ahead. A return to New Orleans of course would have to include a return to Robicheaux’s. They’d Googled it, and the place still stood and still served the same clientele. Floria might be long gone, but her place lived on and in that sense so did she. For old times’ sake they had to make the pilgrimage to see it, have a drink at the bar, reminisce about the past and raise a glass to their friend and Bontemps.

They turned the corner and stopped short in order to miss the rather disgusting sight of a pool of blood covered in dirty bandages, a lost flip flop and a torn t-shirt.

“Yeah, so Bourbon Street hasn’t changed since I was last here,” Nile spoke as she recoiled.

“No, it really hasn’t,” chuckled Booker, gently steering her around the mess, “It was like this back when we were here too.”

Ever the romantic, Joe ushered Nicky to the inside of the sidewalk, keeping him from the mess on the street. Nicky took a kiss off him for the sweet gesture. Quyhn took Andy’s hand and effortlessly leapt over the pool of blood, landing far ahead of it. The carried on as they wove through the mid-morning crowd of tourists who were either on their way back to their hotels after being out all night, or were out early to get a head start on their next party.

As they approached Ursulines Avenue, Nicky reeled Joe in and pulled him close with an arm around his waist. Booker rolled his eyes when he heard Nicky speak under his breath to his husband. “I’ll have you tonight, Joe. I’m going to fuck you until you cannot remember your own name.” They _really_ never stopped, but he was too happy to be back with his family to make anything of it.

“Look guys, she’s still there,” And beamed. Hanging outside Robicheaux’s was a recreation of the original sign that had hung from the same balcony over a hundred and fifty years past. In fact, not much had changed by way of the establishment’s façade.

The French Quarter had been unmade and built up again more than once, but its charm never faded, nor did the history in every cobble stone, in every house, behind every door. It was a special place that spoke of the horrors of the past, its origins, and also of better times when music, revelry and magic reigned.

Seeing their friend’s legacy live on was truly special. It may not have been noon yet, but they decided it was time for a drink.

The door was open, but at this hour of the day there were few patrons. The man behind the bar had his back to them as he flipped a tea towel over his shoulder and put away the clean glasses he’d just brought in from the kitchen. To the minds of the four who’d known the place when Floria had been alive, the place looked virtually the same, save for the original sign, it’s gold finish long worn away, now hung over the mantle in front of the fireplace that was rarely lit.

The man noticed the six of them then, turning around and greeting them with a far far too familiar face.

Andy’s spine straightened immediately, Joe and Nicky’s jaws dropped, Quyhn and Nile exchanged a look of amazement, and Booker felt his legs turn to jelly.

The bartender laughed, outright laughed, and went almost giddy. He stared a Booker and his eyes shone with emotion and amusement. “I knew. I knew. My daddy didn’t believe me, but I knew one day a man would walk into this place and I’d look back at him and see my own eyes,” he spoke, shaking his head in disbelief before pointing a finger straight at Booker. “You sir, are my great-great-great-great-great—great-granddaddy, Sébastien Le Livre. Don’t’ even think to deny it.”

“Oh my god,” Nile spoke. There was little to no difference between the face of their friend and brother and the man behind the bar save for looking a good decade younger than Booker had been when he’d first died.

“Madame Floria Robicheaux sends her regards and thanks, Monsier Le Livre, for accomplishing what no other man could, and leaving her with a son.” Joe obligingly grabbed a chair and slid it behind Booker’s knees before they finally gave out. He dropped down into the chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He stared up at the other man and marvelled. “He ok?”

“I think you broke him,” Nile laughed before extending her hand to Booker’s virtual twin. “Nile Freeman, pleasure to meet you.”

He took it and instead of shaking it, turned it over and bestowed a kiss upon it. “Jean-Pierre Robicheaux, the pleasure is all mine, cherie. Are you one of them? An immortal?”

“I am. I’m still pretty new. You’ve always known about us?”

“Yes ma’am. Floria made sure her son believed in his father’s story, making sure he knew he was a good man and that he wasn’t to hold any ill thoughts towards him and that he’d never know he’d had a son, so it wasn’t his fault he wasn’t around. And then he told his son, and so on and so on down through the generations. We know you like to stay in the shadows, so we’ve kept the secret close. But we know the stories of Andrea, Nicholas, Joseph, Sébastien, and even the long lost Quyhn. Nice to see you’re not lost anymore, darlin’. Floria wrote a lot down, even left a letter for Monsieur Le Livre. My daddy’s still got it. My grand-daddy kept it all his long life, until he had to go into care. His mind isn’t all there anymore, but…”

“He’s alive?” Booker suddenly spoke up, snapping out of his inertia. “And your father? Three generations?”

Jean-Pierre nodded. “Four if you count my son, funny, we’re going to name him Sébastien when he’s born. Hey, would you like to meet Marie? My wife? She’s here, out back in our rooms, same ones Floria took, but she’s resting, our baby’s due any day now. You can meet my father too, if you want? And his father?”

“I… I…” Booker stammered, tears suddenly coming to his eyes.

“He says yes,” Nicky provided. “We would like to meet them too.”

Needless to say, Nile’s plans for their night were derailed, but she didn’t mind. Watching Booker stumble his way through a mess of tears and joy was all worth it. Jean-Pierre’s wife was formerly Marie Bontemps. While the original Bontemps enjoyed men as much as women, he had eventually fallen in love with a lovely lady and married her, though he’d stayed working with Floria and became a strong father figure to her son. The two families had remained entwined to the present.

As the night wore on long past midnight, Bourbon Street was only just getting started. As it had been over a century past, Robicheaux’s was bursting at the seams. Marie had retired to her bed, and Booker found himself behind the bar slinging drinks with his progeny, convincing the drunker tourists they were twins. Andy, Quyhn and Nile were sloshed and hanging over each other, but Joe and Nicky were noticeably absent. Curiousity had got the better of them and with Joe’s superior lock picking skills, they’d snuck away to investigate whether their old room still had its luxurious bathtub. While the décor was certainly more contemporary, mercifully the bathtub remained. If they were missed until morning, no one said a thing.

“You want to stay,” said Nicky matter of fact over breakfast the next day. They’d returned to the same café as the day before as Quyhn wanted to try another variety of their waffles. “It is no surprise, this is your family.”

“You’re my family,” Booker countered, pushing a sausage around his place. “I want to stay, but only for a few weeks. I want to get to know my great… too many greats, grandsons. And, I want to come back, as often as I can. Now that I know have descendants living here, I want to keep the connection, but not at the cost of leaving you all. We’ve worked to hard to all be together and make it work. Copley will still have jobs for us, and I like think I’m still needed.”

“You are,” Andy assured him.

“You heard Jean-Pierre last night, we’re all his family now. He’s a connection to Floria for you, Andy.”

“We could get a house,” Joe suggested. “We don’t have one in this part of the USA. The closest is… Colorado?”

“Si,” Nicky confirmed, stealing a bite of Joe’s omelette from his plate.

Booker looked to Nile with an arched eyebrow. “Hell yeah, I’m in. I love NOLA. I’d come back in a heartbeat.”

“I think I will like it here also,” Quyhn added. “Provided I am continually supplied with pralines.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Booker laughed. “Thanks, guys, I hope you know just how much this means to me.”

“We do,” Andy spoke. “We’re happy for you, Book.”

They dispersed for the day, each intending to make it back to their hotel for a sleep eventually, but Mardi Gras started in just a few hours and the whole city was coming alive in preparation for it and the streets were packed with tourists. As Booker returned to spend a quiet afternoon with Jean-Pierre and his wife pouring over family history, Andy, Quyhn and Nile branched off together while Nicky and Joe meandered.

They passed through Jackson Square towards the hotel and when they came to the Cathedral, Nicky paused and looked skyward.

“Thinking about the last time you stood here?” Joe asked, resting his cheek to his husband’s shoulder and following his eyes to the infinite blue above them.

“I was,” Nicky replied. “I do not feel the same as I did then.”

“How so?”

“The guilt does not consume me any longer. I have accepted it as part of who I am as it has made me that man I am today. I hadn’t back then. It only took another century to come to terms. In truth it has taken me nearly a millennium, but I think I’ve got there in the end. I have let the Church go, finally. There are aspects of it I still revere, some parts of my history that I cherish through it, but for the most part, it is incongruous with the man you’ve married. I believe in God, his ineffable plan, I believe in his infinite love and that we are uniquely blessed by him to have found each other and been gifted all our long years together. I believe we will not be parted when we go into our afterlife. I am certain of our eternity, together. That promise does not come from the church, it never did. Nor do I any longer. I am my own man and all I am, is yours.”

Joe moved to stand in front of Nicky and took his face in both his hands before drawing him in close and kissing him tenderly. He pulled back and smiled at his husband, who did the same in return.

“What changed, _habibi_?”

Nicky shrugged, resting his hands on Joe’s chest, fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt. “You’ve loved me so well and held me so tight that you have put all my broken pieces back together. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“I think that may be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever said to me, Nicolò. You need never apologize, my heart. You are the very soul of me.”

“Your love is what’s done it, and done it every day since we lay our swords down and chose a different path. Love has healed Booker and brought him a new family of his own blood. Love is what healed Quyhn from her rage and mania. Some might think me the benevolent and pure one because I am quiet or because I was once a priest, but it is you my beautiful Yusuf who is good, whose love is pure.”

“I’m only me.”

Nicky smiled and laughed before drawing Joe in for another kiss. “You are, and you are exceptional. Come, my love,” Nicky continued. “Nile has told me that we’re to dress in costume for Mardi Gras and I would like to impress her.”

“Costumes? What sort of costumes?”

“She has provided me with a few addresses and images to work from. I have ideas.”

“Nicolò. What sort of ideas?”

Nicky’s hands strayed down Joe’s back, coming to rest in the small of his back. “Well, my idea is to first go shopping, I think you’d make a fine pirate.”

“A pirate?”  
  
“A very sexy pirate.”

“And for you?”

“Mmm… a saucy wench who waits for you in your cabin to help you relax after a long day marauding the Seven Seas?”

“I prefer a cabin boy, thank you. Or fellow Captain? I think I shall have you as Captain and husband, always by my side.”

“Pirate Captains, all right. We will find our costumes and do Nile proud, and then… and then…” Nicky’s hands dipped lower, and then lower still and Joe grinned as his husband pulled him closer until their pelvises were pressed together. “Then I should like to take you back to the hotel and spend a good hour… no, two hours… three, three hours, taking my pleasure off you before we sleep the rest of the day away.”

Joe smoldered as he looked into Nicky’s eyes. “I am very amenable to that, yes. Three hours?”

“It’s not even close to our record,” Nicky wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist and looked into his dark, soulful eyes. “I am very glad we returned to La Nouvelle Orléans. Destiny brought us here so that Booker could find his grandchildren. Who knows what other surprises this place might have in store for us?”

“Let us not tempt fate.”

“I should like to tempt you instead.”

“Oh you do, _amore_ , you do.”

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record - Segway tours are a hell of a lot of fun, and finding a pool of blood, bandages, a flip flop and torn t-shirt are what I was presented with the first time I stepped on to Bourbon Street.


End file.
